


Look, I really just wanted to write a long and indulgent description of Maiev's appearance

by Asynca



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, I Will Succeed, Too Many Metaphors, also I need to figure out how to get shandris and maiev into bed together, look I just love maiev and want to constantly describe her, too many similes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:58:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: Because there aren't enough gratuitous descriptions of Maiev's mauled face for my liking





	Look, I really just wanted to write a long and indulgent description of Maiev's appearance

The problem with having been a High Priestess of Elune was that it wasn’t possible for Maiev to enter a temple and claim ignorance of the rituals. If she’d been any other warden, she’d have left her helmet on and just soldiered past the shocked priestesses without a word, but even now, even after all this time, she couldn’t. She wondered if Shandris had  _deliberately_ picked the Temple of Elune to meet her in so as to humiliate her—but quickly dismissed that concern. Shandris hadn’t known she would return so soon. No one had.

Besides, there was nothinghumiliating about removing her helmet, she told herself, pulling it off her head as she had thousands of times. There was nothing shameful about bearing the scars of battle. Each one of them told a story of triumph, a story about victory at great odds. Those sweet, young priestesses and the sweet, young daughter of their new High Priestess could look on her face and learn something of what  _real_ struggle meant!

Helmet under her arm, head held high, she entered the temple of Elune with long, easy strides. She had  _nothing_ to be ashamed of.

As she approached the altar, faces to turned towards her. Most of them were smooth and full, some of them—like Shandris’s—had a few wrinkles suggesting their age.

Maiev did  _not_ just have a few wrinkles. She  _may_ had ‘just have a few wrinkles’, too,  if she’d chosen to remain a priestess of Elune, but that wasn’t to be her path. No, her path was much harder and crueller than that of the  _pampered_ daughter of the new and shiny High Priestess of Elune: her path was one of suffering, discipline and the pursuit of justice.

And pursue it, she did. Across Azeroth and beyond, into the Twisting Nether, through death, imprisonment and torture, she  _never_ stopped. All the years she’d endure the harsh, unforgiving elements in the Outland, all the years she’d spent locked in Illidan’s cage. Those years had weathered her. They’d stolen the youthful shine from her complexion and replaced it with the dull glow of beaten leather. All the years she’d spent being cut and hit and torn by demons and other monsters, those years had left deep, poorly healed scars across her forehead and cheeks. Her ears looked like the battered flags of ships in a storm, and her chin and cheekbones pushed out of her face in sharp, unforgiving angles. She wasn’t beautiful anymore, and it had never for a moment bothered her.

_It doesn’t now, either_ , she promised herself, chalking up her momentary self-consciousness to being surrounded by the soft faces of priestesses who’d never seen a demon in their young lives.

Chin set defiantly, she stared into Shandris’s eyes as she approached her, almost daring Shandris to react to what she saw.

She didn’t. Nothing at all resembling any sort of reaction to Maiev’s true appearance showed on Shandris’s face. If she were impressed, if she were horrified even, Maiev felt she might never know. Maiev might just as well have left her helmet on for all attention Shandris was giving what was underneath it. That surprised her; she hadn’t expected such a babied general to actually have mettle.

Maiev prided herself on being able to give credit where it was due. “You might make a good warden, after all,” she told Shandris, the only neutral face in a sea of open-mouthed, gaping priestesses.

“Thank you,” Shandris said; there was a note of something in her voice Maiev couldn’t determine. Amusement, perhaps. She moved on quickly. “I pray you come to us with news of Darkshore?”

Maiev was thankful to not need to dwell on this nonsense. “I do.”

 


End file.
